Posts filed under ‘KF3 (Kiva Fellows 3rd Class)’
Fast 6 months!
It was in December 2006 when I received an email from my brother inviting me to join a cool new website named Kiva.org which allowed individuals with a credit card to finance entrepreneurs in the developing world. Although I had heard of Microfinance I didn’t fully appreciate what it offered the world until I began to research Kiva.org, its field partners, and had read Muhammad Yunus’s book “Banker to the Poor”. I then realized how special the Kiva concept was and knew I had to get involved.
I am now close to the end of my 6 month Kiva Fellowship working with their Peruvian partner Manuela Ramos CrediMujer. Zig-zagging my way through the Amazon Basin, Sierras, and Coast interviewing hundreds of entrepreneurs, writing about their lives, and working side by side incredible loan officers has been one amazing experience.
But the best part about this Fellowship has been discovering that there is no Microfinance/NGO scam… the system works. The working poor are responsible financial clients, the Microfinance Institutions offer valuable, fair services, and these small loans really do change lives! Every entrepreneur I interviewed agreed their life had improved after receiving a loan. Even when an entrepreneur hadn’t experienced significant economic gains they had discovered self worth, independence, and dignity. Externalities of self worth and dignity include happier, healthier families, environments, and communities!
This trip may be close to over but I’m eager to support Kiva and the Microfinance community for years to come.
Sorry, Officer, I just don’t do fines.
Days go by and I often forget how life in Africa can be so different than life in the States. Events from this past weekend remind me that I am going to really miss Tanzania when I leave in June.
On Saturday, I was driving to a friend’s house when I was stopped by a policeman who flagged me down from the side of the road. In Swahili, he asked for my license and then asked for me to show him that the brakes, lights, windshield wipers, etc. work. Seeing that everything worked properly, he started talking about something outside the car. Unfamiliar with these Swahili words, I got out to see that he was pointing to rust on the side of the car. He led me around the car to point out all the spots that had some rust. I replied in English (due to my limited Swahili) that it’s true, that it is an old car. He told me that the rust was “a problem” and that I would have to pay a fine of 20,000 Tanzanian Shillings (about $18). Flabbergasted, I responded saying, “I’m very sorry, but I don’t do fines. Please just take me to court.” We argued about it for a few minutes. He kept saying that court was unnecessary, but I insisted that I preferred going to court. He then left with my license to deal with another driver. Returning five to ten minutes later, he asked if I was ready for the fine papers. I said no, and insisted that I just wanted the court date. Having grown up in East Africa, I know all too well of the common occurrence of “kitu kidogo” (Swahili for the polite way of asking for a bribe). At that moment, I remembered that humor was probably my best tactic. In broken Swahili, I laughed saying that receiving a court date was better for me since I would just get the owner who I borrowed the car from to show for court. He then laughed with me and finally he let me go.
Sunday brought me more amusement. I was walking from my home to the grocery store to buy some margarine when I met an eleven-year-old girl named Mariam on the road. She struck up conversation with me since we were walking in the same direction. Although she was from my neighborhood, she looked like a typical village girl, all except for the fact that she was wearing slippers instead of walking barefoot. She had a sarong wrapped around her over a ragged, oversized dress. On her head, she carried a large, heavy plastic bucket of rice which she was taking to the mill to be processed into flour for her mother’s roadside snack business. She rejected my offer to assist her with the bucket and made her own offer to carry my umbrella.
Walking side-by-side, we used up all the Swahili I know. Going an extra half-mile out of her way, she accompanied me to the grocery store, located (ironically) at the most modern mall in Tanzania. The contrast between this girl, with the big bucket on her head, and the westernized mall around us intrigued me. After buying the margarine and some chocolate, as was her request, we then walked to complete her chore down some muddy back roads where chickens dart across the street. Somehow, at the end of the walk, I felt like we were two peas in a pod.
Making friends and laughter with strangers is an everyday experience here that I will dearly miss when I go. Life in Tanzania is lived in a sense of community in which people prefer to sit with strangers than to sit alone. I find that if I am ever alone at a roadside restaurant waiting for a friend, people who come in and see me by myself often choose to join my table although there are empty ones nearby. Not only do they want to “alleviate” me from my aloneness, these strangers courteously welcome me with a “karibu” to the food they have ordered. Life, I am ever finding out, becomes richer and more amusing when we all accept each other as peas in a pod.
On Returning Home… …some thoughts from the plane
The past six months have been indescribable. I’ve attempted to wrap my thoughts around them and put them to words, but the result does not compare to the experience. I’m home now, trying to find a way to live here, in this world, with the same passion that comes so naturally when given the constant inspiration and education I received from Kiva’s entrepreneurs. Here are some thoughts I scrambled together on the plane ride home, reflecting on what there is left to do and how to possibly take on the challenge:
Poor little rich girl with the luxury of picking around the slightly bruised grapes, choosing not to eat the peas and carrots accompanying the mashed potatoes. What must it be like to not think that way; to feed your child dirt to quell the pangs coming forth from their tiny helpless body? Part of me almost wishes I knew, just so I could identify with those who own this as their reality. Because I can never know, no matter how close to it I live, how many mothers I see defeated, how many sighs of helplessness I breath. Trying to understand it is like trying to understand war by watching Glory, love by reading Shakespeare. I can get lots of ideas, form my opinions, decide what I think the best solutions might be, but I can never know it. It is a part of me in an entirely different way than it is a part of them. They are teaching me. I selfishly benefit from their misfortunate birth into poverty. I can choose to learn from them, or to go elsewhere and learn from someone or something else instead. But for them, the choice is only present in the decision to get up and fight one more day.
The world is perfectly cruel and wonderful, tilted just like the earth itself to bring constant periods of light and dark. In all its unbalanced harmony, where a small percent of the population controls the vast majority of the world’s wealth, there is enough. The problem is, not for a second, resources. The problem is distribution. Distribution of food, water, education, opportunity. There is enough food on the earth for each person, all 6.6 billion of us, to eat almost 3000 calories a day. But while we fill up on free refills and seconds and thirds at the buffet, others feed their children dirt, simply to temporarily relieve the unimaginable ache that haunts every waking moment.
I don’t know who said it, but I’ve often repeated to myself the phrase ‘comfort is a vice’ over the past six months. Comfort can be wonderful and good, but the things it keeps us from doing are dangerous. Comfort keeps us from committing to the voice within us telling us to act when we see something that needs to change. Comfort encourages us to drive on, live our lives in the warmth of our home, enjoying the fruits of our labor while ignoring the barrenness of theirs. Maybe if it were our neighbor who was feeding their child dirt for every meal, maybe then we wouldn’t cling to comfort. But isn’t it our neighbor? Our mother, our brother, our friend?
There are society’s solutions to poverty–give of your money to every charity that knocks at your door, or volunteer your time until you are so exhausted you have no more time to give. Maybe if you donate both of these gifts, you won’t have to be annoyed with guilt from the wonderful burden of knowing that you do have the power to change the world. But basing your role in change on society’s validation doesn’t work. Listen to yourself. You know your truth, you know how to press your inner comfort levels, to challenge your abilities and be an agent for change. The world needs not only our money and our time; it needs our talents, our compassion, our love, our attention. If you could make a change in the world, in your country, your city, your home, what would you do?
If your brother were born without sight, would you read him stories? Share your knowledge? If your sister had no legs, would you carry her? If your daughter were mute, would you speak for her? If your son was hurt on the side of the road with no way of calling for help, and all who passed him by looked the other way, what would you feel? Would you be his voice? How would you help him find his voice so he could be the voice for another?
Instead of anger, choose resolution. Instead of hate, choose love. And instead of indifference, choose action. Choose to be moved by the quiet voice in your head that is so easily ignored. Listen to it. Instead of just talking about all the world’s problems, take the guidance from Gandhi; Be the change you wish to see in the world.
Cold Weather
Over the past five months I have, several times, made the ignorant mistake of poking fun at the perceived idea of ‘cold’ here. Coming from Minnesota, land of ‘the nation’s ice box’, where just a couple weeks ago it hit a record low of 40 below, before wind-chill, I have a different mentality of cold than someone from a not-so-northern state, who might put on a winter jacket when the weather hits 60, when we don a t-shirt come spring when the thermometer notch reads above freezing. So, when traveling to places in Peru and now Guatemala, that are known to the locals as unbearably cold, I simply laugh and say, ‘I’m from Minnesota, I think I can handle it’.
And, of course, I can- because I have a heated room with hot water and warm blankets to go home to after the day’s work. It has taken me five months to realize this, and I feel so foolish for my delay. Choosing where to live in the ‘developed’ world, based on weather conditions, has always been a question of simple taste. Do you like snow? Do you crave the sun? Do you love the water? Do you need the openness of endless plains, or the distraction of the mountains? But not here. A few days ago a Guatemalan woman asked me about my home. She was intrigued by the weather of Minnesota, trying to picture that much snow or that amount of cold. But she had a confused look, and asked, very awe-struck, what we do for food during the winter. Because certainly, crops can’t grow like that. I had no idea how to answer that. The simple answer of ‘we drive to the grocery store just like we do in the summer’ didn’t seem to be appropriate, so I rattled something off about cows and pigs and chickens being okay in the cold. I felt my ignorance rising up inside, and made an unsuccessful attempt to explain importing food from other regions not burdened by the cold, but realized I had no real idea what I was talking about.
The cold here, when you have no heat and holes in the broken walls of your house, is lethal. Thinking about it made me cringe with sadness for the homeless in Minnesota, too. I can’t imagine. I have been cold before, truly freezing, with icicles forming on my eyelashes, but I have always done so out of free will, with the option of running back inside to the warmth and security of a heated home full of blankets, fireplaces, and hot chocolate. And here, if the cold doesn’t kill you, it kills your crops, your one hope for an income or nourishment for your family. I wonder if this fear is present for farmers in the ‘developed’ world, when I read about an early unexpected frost.
I’m slightly embarrassed it took me this long to see things a little more as they really are. I wonder what else my ignorance is keeping from me…
Kibiti Stars
TANZANIA. Last week, I was given the opportunity to train BRAC Tanzania staff on Kiva in Kibiti, which is located about 150 km outside of Dar es Salaam. Riding from the noisy, congested (yet still completely lovable) city to the luscious green countryside brought refreshment to my senses.
Kibiti is a small agricultural town on the way to one of the famous game parks in Tanzania, thus making it a popular stopping point for people passing through. The center of town is the highway, and life for its residents seems to revolve around what the highway brings and takes away.
The town has no electricity, although electric lines run right through the town toward another destination. I asked someone why Kibiti wasn’t receiving any electricity from the lines, but the only answer I was given is that the government is still working on it. As a result of the lack of electricity (except for generator usage), the stars that night were indescribable.
I, along with the two BRAC staff who accompanied me, stayed that one night at the nicest guesthouse in town. A room cost 4,000 Tanzanian Shillings (about $3.50). The guesthouse even had running water and a generator which I was told runs after dark for 4 hours each night. I was surprised that night when the generator remained running past the 4 hour mark. Only afterward did I realize that they had kept it running just for me, the foreigner. As soon as the light in my room went off, the generator went off. In the morning, I asked the BRAC staff if it was normal for the generator to be on so late and was told no. I felt guilty because my stay probably cost them more in generator fuel than the $3.50 it had cost for the room. Once again, because of my skin color and Tanzania’s value of gracious hospitality toward foreigners, I was given undeserved privilege.
The town had one main restaurant, where the customers pretty much have to order most items a day in advance. In the town, there were also the typical street cafes, where women sell plates of rice, beans, and stew. The BRAC staff and I sat at one of the street cafés for some after-dinner tea that night and found out that the seller had been one of BRAC’s former clients. Last year, the woman had taken a 100,000 Tsh (about $90) loan from BRAC in order to buy more cups, plates, and food stock for her business. She had been able to pay back the loan, but in the end, it hadn’t benefited her business that much because the demand for her food is so low in the town. She told us that the only way her business survives is by selling a plate of her food at 600 Tsh (about 55 cents) whereas the other places sell at 800 Tsh and above. Each night, she has her regular 12 customers– bachelors living in the town. Her daily profit is 3000 Tsh. She acknowledged that unless she upgrades her café by building a structure and providing seating, she will never be able to attract more customers. Although she has fear about whether or not she would be able to pay back another loan like the last one, she agreed that borrowing smaller loans could potentially help her business move slowly toward her dream. She seemed so happy to talk to us about her struggles and probably thankful that she had exceeded her 12 customer limit for the night. I too was thankful. Her ginger tea was delicious, and I was thankful that that night we were able to become a small part of her amazing story.
Child labor?
I am finding myself in situations here that require much moral thought, and I can’t seem to come up with the right answer, no matter which choice I make. There are children everywhere, all of them somehow under the age of twelve, and all of them working the same trade, selling bracelets, scarves, and little souvenirs on the streets, sharing their stories of sadness and begging for your business. I don’t know what to do with them. Long ago I couldn’t have seen anything but goodness in giving to a child- believing that my money and my food will help them out of their poverty. Now, I see things differently (although not entirely).
I have mixed feelings about buying from children in the street. On one hand, they are offering me something in exchange for my money, so they are working for it, it’s not a handout. On the other hand, they are working for it. They are so young, should they be spending their time working all day? And if I buy from them, does it just affirm to their parents that yes, they should be working all day? My heart tells me to never turn away a child, but my mind goes through the whole process, and sees a parent who has the option to put their child in school, or on the streets working. And when the child comes home from work with money, which option will the parent choose? But then six-year-old Tomás comes up begging, dirt in his eyes, no shoes, and pleading for me to buy a doll from him, he hasn’t eaten all day and he needs to buy a tortilla, please. What can you do? I had met Tomás earlier in the day as I sat down to read. I told him no, thank you, I didn’t want to buy a doll. This time he found me as I waited for my dinner. Sometimes I’ve seen kids laughing in the streets, and as they see me coming, they immediately stop laughing and turn on the sad face, as if it’s a Pavlovian instinct triggered by a gringo. But Tomás, his tears appeared genuine, the desperation in his voice real. There was a family next to me, and they had a small dog who was clearly loved. They were having a pleasant family night, eating pizza, drinking Cokes, laughing at stories and playing with their dog. Tomás approached them, necklaces draped over his arm, dolls in hand, asking five Quetzales for both (about 75 cents). They politely said no, and continued on with their night. He persisted, lowering his price, showing them the necklaces, telling them his story. They again said no, not unexpectedly. Finally, Tomás asked if he could have some food, as he was so hungry and they had plenty of leftovers. They said no, and eventually he gave up and moved on to me. As I was talking with Tomás, his eyes looking as if they were about to spill over, this family’s dog was barking, sitting on his hind legs, and being fed pizza for each trick he performed. It broke my heart to have to watch Tomás witness this, I can’t imagine what he made of it—people would rather feed their food to a dog than take away his hunger.
I don’t intend to judge this family, they have their reasons, and the situation runs deeper than I can imagine. It just struck me, and made me wonder.
I had an encounter the night before that made me start thinking about this subject. I was, again, sitting down to dinner in a little café on the main street of Panajachel. I had just gotten an iced tea and was writing in my journal, and a little girl approached me, basket upon her head, another one in her arms, begging me in her sad voice to please buy a bracelet, she hadn’t made a sale and couldn’t go home until she made some money. I said no, sorry, they’re beautiful but I’m not going to buy any. She persisted, lowering her prices, showing me everything she had to offer. I looked up this time, and said no thank you, not tonight. She didn’t seem fazed; rather she sat down, and asked what I was doing. I told her I was writing, and asked if she liked to write. She said she did very much, but even more she liked to draw. We talked for a few minutes, she had several questions; she wanted to know how I could write so many words, and what tea tasted like when it was cold. After a bit she got the courage to ask if she could draw in my book. I said of course, and her eyes turned huge with excitement. She took my pen, opened to the first blank page, and began to draw a picture of the Lake Atitlan, with a smiling sun rising over the mountains (the sun was happy because it was morning). She drew pictures of her house and her family, flowers and hearts and birds. I asked her if she could write her name, to which she answered, of course! She then wrote down a little poem, and signed it ‘Para Maren, De Maria Guadalupe’. Clearly, this eleven-year-old was being educated. At this point I decided it was okay if I bought a bracelet from her. Figuring she’d leave after she had my business, she instead continued to draw, talking away, hardly even noticing the money in front of her. A friend of hers approached, basket in hand, and upon seeing us drawing, dropped her basket and pulled up a chair. She wanted to draw, too, and after a minute we were playing games—one person begins a drawing, the next has to add to it, and the next finishes it, ultimately deciding what the object will be. Somewhere in here, my pizza arrived, and I felt quite guilty and a little rude eating in front of these girls. They weren’t about to ask for any, but you could see hunger in them. I didn’t know if it was okay or not, but I shared the pizza and hoped for the best. I felt as if I were sitting down to lunch with friends- they were so grown up, and had so many questions. They both go to school regularly- Maria Guadalupe wants to be a teacher (and when she heard that’s what I had studied, I was amazed at the questions she had for me), and Veronica wants to be a tour guide because she loves to travel.
The girls drew and played games and recited poems for close to an hour, part of me feeling guilty for keeping them from work, the other part kicking myself for feeling guilty. They so eagerly abandoned their work, and transitioned so naturally into being kids. I fought with this, wondering if it’s okay for them to work, or if it’s okay because it’s not taking them away from their education, but wondering if it will eventually keep them from studying, when their parents see they’ve brought home so much money… The two girls decided to show me how they make the bracelets, and did so so quickly and skillfully. I thought they would try and sell me these new bracelets, but instead they tied them on my wrist as gifts. I almost lost it. I think I wished I could adopt them more than I wish for a puppy.
I have no decided point to this story, simply meanderings about what to do in situations like these. Does giving to children encourage their parents to put them on the street? Is it okay for kids to work if they’re still getting an education? Should we buy from kids even if it does encourage child labor- for how will they eat if we don’t? What’s more important, that the child eats or that we make a point? If you have any thoughts or ideas on the subject, I’d love to hear them…
Changes
By Maren Misner, KF3
I’ve found myself lately in a state of peace I can’t seem to explain nor justify. But peace is much preferred to chaos, and I’ll take it, no questions asked. For the first three months of my fellowship I was based in Lima, traveling from there to the different branch offices around the country. While amazing to experience the intense variety of Peru, it can be unsettling to be in a constant state of movement- just as you get used to a place, you have to leave, wondering what you could have accomplished with a bit more time, what relationships you could have formed. So, with much eagerness and gratitude, I spent my last month in Peru in the amazing city I’d fallen in love with in December, Ayacucho. For the first time since I had landed in Peru, I was able to not only unpack my bags, but actually put my things in a closet, on hangers, in drawers! The excitement was too much! But Ayacucho proved to be much more than a place to simply ‘hang my hat’. It became my temporary home, complete with friends and family.
I was lucky enough to have my month in Ayacucho correspond with the country’s massive festival of Carnaval. I believe Carnaval is celebrated a bit differently in each city throughout the world, and here, in Ayacucho, they celebrate with water. Each day in the weeks leading up to this great celebration presented a challenge. The children nearby the house where I lived had a scope narrowed in on the gringos, and thought the best way to pass their summer vacation was to hide behind whatever door, wall, or car they could find, and spring an attack of water balloons whatever chance we gave them. And so it turned into a covert operation, constantly on the lookout for little hands clenching all too maliciously to purple and green balloons, ready to pounce. And then one would hit, and by the time you could shake off the shock and turn around, all that was left was joyful squeals, relishing in their triumph. Something had to be done. So dinosaur water guns were purchased for 50 cents. Although cute, they were not enough. And so, the right of passage to becoming a true Ayacuchano took place. Water balloons, and lots of them. And so it became, fully armed at all times before venturing into the dangerous streets, true participants in Carnaval.
It continued like this with no relief, being drenched became the norm. I became very good at repeating to myself ‘it’s just water, it will dry’. And then arrived the true Carnaval. No longer innocent water balloons, but buckets full, followed by baby powder and an insane amount of spray foam. And, to the unlucky, paint and oil. I could no longer reassure myself with ‘it’s just water, it will dry’. But somehow, even the paint was welcomed. Seldom have I laughed so hard, or seen so much pure happiness in every direction.
I had the great privilege to be a part of Finca’s ‘comparsa’, singing and dancing in traditional dress for six hours through the streets of Ayacucho in one of many Carnaval parades. Desperately trying to learn the Quechua (native language) songs, and proudly belting it out whenever the Spanish lines came along, we twirled through the streets, with spray foam and baby powder in hand, ready to engage in war with the thousands of awaiting spectators. It was fantastic.
The staff at Finca amaze me. I feel so honored to have been a part of something so important to them, and so sad to have to leave them so soon. The work they are doing has an incredible impact. Every socia I got to talk to willingly conveyed their immense gratitude for the loan officers and staff of Finca, that more than money, Finca gives them hope and teaches them how to live as strong and loving women. Skeptics ask if microfinance really works. I have not a single doubt. And it is so much more than finance. It is life.
I had to say goodbye to Finca last week, and they gave me a going-away party I’ll never forget, one that touched my heart and deepened my understanding of what the thousands of socias see. After my short visit to Ayacucho in December, I wrote a blog about the city, post terrorism. One of the things that struck me most was how, in a city that had been destroyed by evil less than two decades ago, there was no indicator that the town had ever been anything other than peaceful. Finca has been an alive presence for fifteen years now, and I have to believe that they are a strong factor in the community’s ability to rebuild and thrive. I can’t wait to see what they accomplish in the next fifteen years.
I was so sad to leave my temporary home and move once again to a new and strange place. But Guatemala has a story of its own, and a people who love it like Finca loves Ayacucho. And slowly, I’m seeing the beauty in this, and finding the courage to uncover the miracles that Friendship Bridge creates every day.
Have I been here too long?!
A few years ago I was told a story of how to tell a first, second, and third time missionary. If you are drinking a glass of lemonade, and a fly lands in it, a first time missionary will ask for a new glass of lemonade. A second-timer will simply remove the fly, but continue to drink the lemonade. And a third-timer will look at the fly, and without interruption, drink the lemonade, fly and all, giving thanks for the extra nutrition! Last week I left Peru and moved on to Guatemala to begin my fifth month as a Kiva Fellow. Sitting down to a delicious lunch of tortillas, chicken, and rice, I reached for my glass to take a much-needed drink. After the first sip, I looked in the glass and noticed several dozen tiny ants floating on top of the could-be-so-refreshing pink beverage. I pondered for a moment, having already swallowed that first sip, and set the glass down, reflecting on this story I had once been told. I wasn’t about to ask for a new glass, as the others seated around me seemed to have the same added ‘nutrition’ in their glasses, so I figured it must be standard around here. I thought of scooping them out, but it wasn’t just a single fly, there were dozens of these little creatures, and I didn’t want to be rude. So… I acknowledged that I’d already surely downed a few of them in my first sip, and had noticed nothing– so far I was still alive and well… what harm could the rest of them do?! It would just be like eating cow-stomach soup in Peru—just close your eyes and hold on to the fact that it’s not going to kill you. And after all that hot salsa, I was just so thirsty! So, what could be done? I picked up my glass, and brought it to my lips, and began to drink my ant-seasoned lemonade. As I did this, by the grace of something almighty, my hostess got up and left the table, leaving me with the only other gringa around. I took the opportunity to inquire about the ants, (she’s lived here for some time and would know if it was normal) and to my great relief, it’s not normal, and she swiped the glass away and said ‘don’t drink that!’, and my taste buds breathed sighs of gratitude. A few minutes later all pink beverages were off the table, with fresh cups of ant-free coffee in their place. While I was quite relieved to not have to ingest more ants than necessary, I couldn’t help but smile with a small amount of pride that I’m now okay with doing so if the situation requires!
Kiva Friends Donate $4,430 to Mirembe Youth Development Projects
Kampala, Uganda. On Saturday, January 26, 2008 I had the honor and pleasure of presenting a check in the amount of $7,389,750 Uganda Shillings (US $4,430) from Kiva Friends to Florence Kaluuba and the Mirembe Youth Development Projects.Several weeks ago Jill informed me that Kiva Friends had collected over $4,000. I withheld the information from Florence in belief that it was just too good to be true; and since I didn’t have the cash in hand, I didn’t want to risk disappointing her.
It was quite a scene at the Mirembe School as we arrived at 10 am on Saturday. Florence arranged for a number of students and alumni to be there, so the little 4 room school building was packed with young women and their small children. There were also samples of the crafts and teaching materials Florence’s staff teaches the girls to make and use in their jobs as nursery school teachers.
I came to Florence’s school with Stuart Tamale, Florence’s credit Officer from Share an Opportunity Microfinance Ltd, whose original loan to Florence of $1,200 was used to purchase a desk top computer and printer. SAO is a MFI partner of Kiva.org, so Florence’s loan was funded by Kiva social lenders.
I was also accompanied by my daughter Molly Kinder who is a graduate student at the Kennedy School at Harvard, completing her final semester of a Masters degree in International Development (MPA/ID). Molly stopped to visit me in Uganda on her return to Boston from a two week assignment in Liberia working for the Ministry of Finance on their Poverty Reduction Plan.
It was a proud moment for me as my daughter witnessed the check presentation ceremony and met Florence in person. Of course Florence, the consummate teacher, recognized the value of a 28 year old role model for her girls so Molly’s visit was heavily promoted in advance. The young women flocked to the tall red headed American like a visiting rock star.
When we went into Florence’s small office to present the Bank Check, I told her the amount was a little larger than we expected. She didn’t react visibly as she read the check. It seems Florence uses reading glasses, which were not being worn in front of our cameras. Once she put her glasses on, she acted quite surprised and pleased by the large donation. She said she would have to send Jill a new expanded list of items to purchase with the donation.
The actual donation, as reported to me by email, was $4,430. The amount that arrived in my checking account was 7,389,750 Uganda shillings. Dividing the two amounts yields an exchange rate of 1,668 shillings to the dollar, which is pretty much half way between the posted foreign exchange rate at Metropolitan Forex Bureau of 1,650 shillings to the dollar for a funds transfer and 1,690 shillings/dollar for US $100 dollar bills. I am satisfied Barclay’s Bank treated us fairly.
On this visit I was reminded of something about the Mirembe School I failed to emphasize in my original blog. Florence’s “Founders Class” of young women had 16 graduates. Many of those young women went on to teach and then eventually establish their own nursery schools with an average enrollment of about 60 children. Subsequent graduating classes totaling about 500 graduates have followed the same pattern.
My blog talked about Florence’s amazing determination to salvage the lives of her students and enable them to be productive members of society and excellent mothers. I missed the multiplier effect her graduates are having on the next generation of young Ugandans. That information made me feel even better about the support the Kiva Friends have given her.
Afterwards, as Molly and I reviewed the day’s events, I told her no vacation has ever given me greater pleasure than the simple act of presenting the Kiva Friends check to Florence and her girls. I am very thankful to Kiva Friends for that opportunity.
One Day in the Life of a Microfinance Branch Manager
Nabwire Carolyn, Manager of BRAC Uganda’s Kalerwe Branch, awakens at 5:30 each work day. A devoutly religious person, she spends the first half hour of each day in prayer. Next she prepares her two children for the day. Joshua, age 4, attends pre-school and Ester, age 2, goes to day care. Carolyn prepares breakfast for the children and her husband, Joseph, who is a computer programmer and web designer. At 6:30 Joseph departs in the family car to drop the children off at school on his way to work.
Carolyn walks to the Kalerwe Branch. BRAC requires branch managers and credit officers to live within the boundaries of their branch. Given the overburdened and unreliable public transportation system in Kampala, and the fact that the BRAC work day begins precisely at 7:00 am, this is a wise policy.
On this day, Carolyn was met at the branch office by five credit officers and Mr. Emma, the branch support staff. Olive, Demali, Annette and Jackie are micro-finance C.O.’s. Ms. Raymond is a newly hired credit officer assigned to launch an individual loan program at the branch.
The Kalerwe branch recently celebrated its one year anniversary. Carolyn, Annette, and Jackie have been there since the first day.
Carolyn related to me the difficulty of opening a new microfinance branch in Kalerwe. There are about ten different microfinance institutions operating within her branch boundaries, which extend out about a three mile radius from the branch office.
BRAC follows the same procedure whenever a new branch is opened. The first step is to conduct a survey of every household in the area. Carolyn and her credit officers expanded concentrically from the office in ¼ mile increments, not missing a single residence.
The BRAC survey asks basic questions of residents to determine their relative wealth compared to their neighbors.
At the end of the day, Carolyn took her survey results to the LC1, the local elected official who oversees most activity in the area. The two of them went through the surveys and the LC1 used a red pen to check off the lowest 50% of residents in terms of wealth and income. Anyone with an existing loan from another Microfinance Institution was eliminated from consideration.
The households with the red checkmarks were BRAC’s initial target customers. Carolyn and her staff went back to those homes to invite the female head of household to an informational meeting. Their initial greetings were not always positive. Many MFI’s have operated in this area, promising much and delivering little. The BRAC staff was able to overcome much of that distrust and skepticism at the informational meetings.
Groups were formed consisting of four to five subgroups of five members each. The sub-group members were friends and neighbors who were required to guarantee each other’s loan repayment.
When I asked Carolyn about her best day as a BRAC Manager, she said it was the day she disbursed her first loan, just six weeks after opening the branch.
After one year, the Kalerwe branch is nearing full capacity. The maximum number of members served by a BRAC branch with 4 microfinance credit officers, assuming a maximum of 30 members per group and three group meetings a day for 5 days, is 1,800 members. The current membership roll at Kalerwe stands at approximately 1,400.
When I asked Carolyn about her worst day at work, she told me about the time it flooded and she had to slog through mud and flood water to reach her group meeting, only to stand on a table once she arrived.
The part of the job Carolyn enjoys the most is attending group meetings. Like snowflakes, no two meetings are the exactly the same. She finds them interesting and usually amusing. If she is having a bad day, she says she forgets her troubles at a group meeting.
Carolyn believes in BRAC. When I asked her what makes BRAC different from the other Microfinance Institutions operating in her territory, she replied;
1. BRAC’s interest rate is lower.
2. They do not ask for collateral.
3. They keep overhead down to about 10%, loaning the remaining 90% to poor borrowers.
4. They do not make members feel inferior. Members interact freely with a respectful staff.
5. The objective is poverty reduction and empowering women, not profit.
6. They loan money to poor women who have been denied credit by other MFI’s.
7. At meetings all members sit on the ground on mats in a horseshoe or circular pattern, which she believes is unique and indicative of BRAC’s spirit of equality and group dynamics.
One of Carolyn’s primary duties is to prevent loan fraud. Every afternoon and between morning meetings, she personally interviews loan applicants at home and at their place of business. On the home visit, Carolyn listens for comments from neighbors and assesses the applicant’s living conditions. She confirms the size of the family and the marital status of the applicant. Not only is she there to approve or deny the loan, she also has to determine an appropriate loan amount. Loaning too much money places an unnecessary strain on the borrower and creates a temptation to use excess money for personal purposes.
At the applicant’s place of business, Carolyn fills out a loan appraisal form as she critically examines the business. She asks questions, examines inventory, and tests equipment to confirm it operates.
Another valuable source of information is feedback from the members of the borrowing group, especially her sub-group of four loan guarantors. Although these women might be reluctant to speak publically against a loan application, they often approach Carolyn or her Credit Officers in private with their concerns.
Finally, the applicant’s credit officer conducts a separate but identical loan assessment.
After conferring with her C.O., Carolyn signs a loan approval which is sent to her Area Manager and Country Office for review. In one year and approximately 1,400 loans, the Kalerwe branch has not had a single uncollected loan.
Another of Carolyn’s major responsibilities is to train and develop her credit officers. Most BRAC employees are green; joining the company with no previous microfinance experience. Carolyn is proud that several of her C.O.’s have been promoted since the branch opened.
Carolyn attends three group meetings each morning. Her role is to observe and double check the C.O.’s work. She randomly samples five pass books against the computerized collection sheet to confirm the C.O’s entries. She also evaluates the C.O.’s conduct of the meeting, including promptness, attendance, and meeting content.
Recently, BRAC Uganda partnered with Kiva.org to raise 0% interest funds for BRAC. The Kiva model is based on “peer to peer” lending from individuals in developed countries to poor borrowers in developing countries. The model requires a digital picture of the borrower as well as a written profile of the borrower and the business purpose of the loan.
Branch Managers have responsibility for collecting this information. Carolyn has quickly become an expert using a digital camera at group meetings.
The manager and C.O.’s arrive back at the branch at about noon. They spend the next hour counting and reconciling loan repayments from the morning meetings against the computerized collection sheets.
At 1:00 pm disbursements begin. All members whose loans have been approved are scheduled for a loan disbursement appointment. The women are called into the office one at a time from a waiting room. After the member signs loan documents, Carolyn confirms her identity, signs the documents releasing the money, and records the loan in the member’s pass book. The credit officers then disburse the loan amount from funds collected that day.
After lunch, Carolyn typically conducts loan due diligence, visiting homes and businesses of prospective borrowers.
The BRAC business day ends at 4 pm. Before leaving the branch Carolyn must enter all collections and disbursements into BRAC’s proprietary RADAR program on the office computer. Next, she prints computerized collection sheets for the group meetings scheduled the following day. Once that task is complete, she returns home to her family, fully prepared for a fast start at 7:00 am the next day.
Regina
How does a 48 year old widow in Uganda with no job, no savings, very little education, and no business training provide for 
eleven orphans, ranging in age from 9 to 17?
One answer is to take out a US $180 micro-loan from BRAC Uganda and work very hard to establish and operate two successful small businesses.
The story of how Bayiyana Regina came to be the sole supporter of eleven orphans is both a tragic commentary on life and death in Uganda and an inspirational tale of sacrifice and perseverance in the face of overwhelming adversity.
Regina and her husband had eleven children. They lived a modest but relatively secure life based on his salary as a primary school teacher. Then in 1987 her husband developed a “headache that lasted three days, and he died”, according to Regina. She was left with no savings, no pension and only a small, one room mud brick home located in a swampy flood plain in Bwaise, Uganda, a northern suburb of Kampala, the capital city.
Since then, seven of her eleven children have died; two from AIDS and the remaining five “fell sick” from unspecified illnesses. Of the surviving children, one is “missing”, two are “just around”, and one is a student at Makerere University, Uganda’s leading university.
The eleven orphans in Regina’s care are all family members. Some are her grandchildren, where both parents died of AIDS, and some are the orphaned grandchildren of her deceased brother. She looks after seven boys and four girls.
When I asked Regina about the worst day in her life, she paused and replied it was the day her brother went off to work and never returned. He died on the job. Regina counted on her brother. He lived nearby in a small, half-finished two room home. He and Regina relied on each other for mutual support. The day he died, Regina knew she would provide for his orphans as well as her own.
Regina’s greatest hope in life is that her son will graduate from university and get a good paying job to help support the children. Until then, she works extra long hours to contribute to his tuition. When school is not in session he returns home to work hard like his mother, performing casual labor such as delivering water and doing other peoples’ laundry.
Regina is a very serious person. As I interviewed her following her weekly BRAC group meeting she seldom smiled and never laughed. When I asked her what she does for enjoyment, she replied she “sleeps”.
All this changed as we walked down the soggy lane approaching her modest house. Her orphans ran to be at her side. The first to arrive was Marvin, a young boy who was injured in a fire. He has burns on his arms and legs and about half of his left foot is missing. None of that seems to bother Marvin. He wore a constant smile on his face and he was the first to reach his grandmother. She handed him her bag, which he proudly carried for her. I sensed Marvin occupies a special place in Regina’s heart.
As the children grouped around us, Regina’s stoic composure softened. She smiled and hugged her orphans. They obviously worship her and she relishes their company and devotion.
Regina’s microfinance group was formed less than a year ago. It consists of five sub-groups containing five members each. At their first meeting, the 25 group members elected Regina as their group leader for a two year term.
Regina’s primary business is selling roasted chicken. She buys live chickens during the day, kills and cleans them, and then roasts the birds in a charcoal fueled oven and sells them on the covered sidewalk in the commercial center of Bwaise. She starts selling roasted chicken at about 6 pm. Her first customers are commuters returning home from work. Her next customers are revelers leaving bars in the area. Regina stays on the job until the last roasted chicken is sold, sometime well after midnight.
She shops hard during the day to locate plump birds, paying between 4,000-4,500 shillings each. After roasting and cutting the chickens into pieces, she is able to sell one chicken for 5,900 shillings. She sells six chickens a day Monday-Thursday and seven chickens each day on Friday-Sunday. Her average weekly gross profit from selling roasted chickens is 75,000 shillings, before subtracting fixed costs such as charcoal fuel. This is approximately US $45.50 per week.
One of the threats to Regina’s business is not being able to obtain a reliable daily supply of live chickens. At certain times of the year, especially around holidays, chickens are in short supply.
To even out her cash flow and to guarantee a minimum income, Regina opened a second business of selling fresh water from a water company tap located on her property. She borrowed 300,000 shillings (about US $ 180) from BRAC. With the proceeds of her loan she was able to have the water tap installed as well as replenish working capital in her chicken roasting business. Regina estimates she generates 6,000-10,000 shillings ($3.60-$6.00) profit per week selling clean water to neighbors who do not have a water tap.
The profit from her water business is small but very important. With responsibility for feeding and caring for eleven orphans, earning cash money every day is essential. If the chicken roasting business fails to meet her family needs, she can count on cash income from the water tap.
The daily diet in Regina’s home consists primarily of starches such as posho (made from corn flour), matoke (banana based), potatoes, and cassava. The children wear second hand clothing purchased at Kampala’s sprawling St. Balikuddembe market for 2,000 to 5,000 shillings ($1.20-$3.00).
Some of the orphans sleep with Regina in her one room house. The balance sleep in one room of her brother’s former home, under the supervision of Stephen, an extremely polite teenage grandson who is Regina’s “right hand man” in the family.
Regina’s greatest challenge is paying school fees for the children. Uganda has universal primary education which theoretically provides free schooling for children from Primary 1 through Primary 7 grades. It doesn’t really work out that way. First, additional fees such as uniform fees, book fees, and teacher’s transportation fees are often imposed at public schools. Second, public primary schools are not always available. In Regina’s parish there is only one public primary school and 10 private schools. Finally, the quality of public school education is widely perceived to be sub-standard. The majority of students in the Kampala area attend private schools.
One private school a short distance from Regina’s home charges about 25,000 shillings ($15) per term for a primary level student. Tuition is higher for secondary grades. There are three terms per year.
With a monthly family income of only about $65, it is easy to see how school fees take a large percentage of her household budget.
Regina is a determined woman. She has never been late on a weekly loan payment. She spoke to her credit officer and branch manager about taking out a larger loan when the first loan is paid off. With the additional capital she could raise up a small portion of her swampy land to build a poultry house. Rearing her own chickens will improve profitability by lowering her cost of goods as well as insuring a supply of birds year round.
She has also considered borrowing money to finish the second room of her brother’s house and renting it out. She figures the rental income will repay the loan and eventually contribute to family income.
When I asked Regina what would happen to the children if she was not there, she looked at me through sad eyes and said they would be on the street.
As I bid good bye, I was filled with profound respect and admiration for this saintly grandmother. Impulsively, I bent down to kiss her on the cheek. The children howled in delight and shock at the sight of a tall blond stranger kissing their grandmother in public.
The meaning of my kiss was to let her know that she is not alone. She has the respect of her grandchildren, her neighbors, her peers in the BRAC group, her BRAC credit officer, her BRAC branch manager, the social lenders at Kiva.org who supply funds to BRAC, and at least one American businessman who stands in awe of her unselfish determination.
Panadol, Anyone?
It would seem that time with Kiva is flying by when I think about my remaining 4½ months left here in East Africa. Almost 4 down, almost 4 more to go. I have been receiving updates from friends in Chicago about their frigid weather and feel grateful even for Tanzania’s thick humidity. I prefer sweating to shivering any day. The bright red flowers on the trees are so beautiful here, and passing by moneys playing by the side of the road on my way to work makes me smile.
I am now helping out at two MFIs– Tujijenge Tanzania and BRAC Tanzania, which have distinct and contrasting personalities when it comes to operation. BRAC, where I’ve been working part-time for the last month, is the largest NGO in the world– I am told. BRAC originated in Bangladesh, and although it only came to Tanzania in 2006, it already has 40+ branch offices around the country. While there are 14 branch offices in Dar es Salaam alone, my work mostly consists of posting business profiles on the internet and occasionally training branch managers on the interviewing process. Besides learning about the extensive work of this well-established NGO, my favorite thing about BRAC is being able to practice the Bengali I had learned in 2006 while living for 6 months in Kolkata, India.
Tujijenge, on the other hand, is small, and for this reason, feels personal (for an institution that is). The first few months of working there, I enjoyed talking with the clients and interviewing them for the Kiva business profiles. Also, the Tujijenge staff are so wonderful and have allowed me a glimpse of the beauty of Tanzanian culture.
One thing that comes to mind was the discovery of what went into their weekly newsletters regarding my presence as a westerner at their office. Over the past 2-3 months, I’ve become friends with the marketing staff person, Ann, who writes the weekly newsletters. Not long ago, I caught her laughing at something she was reading on her laptop and asked what was so funny. In response, she asked me if I had read the last October newsletter written the week I had just begun working at their office. Since the newsletters are mostly in Swahili, and thus the answer was obvious, she proceeded to tell me what she had written. Apparently it had been a difficult week for the head accountant, Mariam, whose office I had been using to do my work (since then, I have moved to Ann’s office due to internet access). During this first week with Tujijenge, there was also another non-Swahili speaker named Sam in Mariam’s office, who had been brought from Uganda to work on the computer software. As a result, the newsletter went something like this:
Staff member Kiloko: ‘Mariam, why are you looking so ill this week?’
Head accountant: ‘I have been taking Panadol everyday this week (Panadol is one of Tanzania’s leading Tylenol’s) . I turn to one side and say, “Yes, Sam, the computer is…” and I turn to the other and say “Hello, Dana, how are…?”’
Completely confused about why this was funny, I probed Ann with questions. I finally came to understand that taking Panadol is a joke among Swahili-speakers for when they are required to speak English and don’t feel comfortable doing so.
The interesting thing I’ve found here in Dar es Salaam is that using English is rarely required for many Tanzanians, even at the work place. While their initial interview for a job is often conducted in English, it is common for the rest of the job to be done purely in Swahili. The same is true at Tujijenge, where the staff speak Swahili to each other and to their clients. It is only for visitors like me that they must remember the English they were taught from their schooling days.
Ann told me that the Panadol joke was well known around Tanzania, and that even the previous day, a visitor had used it when visiting the office. Ann had invited him to join her and me in her office, but he refused saying that if he did, he would first have to go out and buy a big tub of Panadol. Previously oblivious to this humor, for which I now realize I am often a main cause, I have since then decided to start taking advantage of their clever Panadol joke. One day, while addressing all of the loan officers about Kiva information, I told them that if they had any questions, they could approach me anytime. I then added that if they preferred, they could ask the questions to my partner/translator instead, which might save them from first having to go out and buying Panadol. They all laughed and I felt a strand closer to understanding their culture.
Celia
As a Kiva Fellow you realize the journals you write quickly become lost in the depths of hundreds of pages, full of testimonials begging to be read. I wanted to share one story I’ve found particularly moving, and hope you will, too.
An excerpt from a journal from Ayacucho, Peru:
“Celia has faced many difficulties in her life- her husband left her 21 years ago to raise 11 children on her own. She has lost three of those children, one just last year, and of the remaining children left in her care, three of them are blind due to a hereditary illness. While a challenge anywhere, the steep and unsteady dirt road that leads to Ayacucho’s cobblestone streets full of unforgiving traffic poses extra challenges for her blind children, and Celia dedicates herself daily to providing for all her children, and is saving now to buy new and sturdier canes that will enable them to move about with more ease and safety.
As if Celia hadn’t faced enough in her life, an earthquake hit Peru a few months ago, and much of Celia’s home was destroyed. Fortunately, her store, which is attached to her home, was not affected and she has been able to continue with her business as usual, which is more important than ever with the new expense of rebuilding her home.
Celia has an amazing and inspiring way of accepting the hardships in her life. She smiles and says ‘asi es la vida’- that’s life- and all we can do is to pick up and keep on going. While describing the earthquake, Celia said everything just kept shaking, and because they live on a hill, everything from houses above them fell on their house.
After describing the fear from the earthquake, she asks if she can show me something, and takes me out back of her home, where the firewood she sells is stacked, and I wonder if it’s this she wants me to see. But she walks me over to a small garden where herbs and vegetables are growing. Celia looks at me with eyes of determination and hope, and tells me that this is where her kitchen stood before the earthquake. I am amazed at her perseverance and will to continue, and her ability to take the destructive ruins from a tragedy and create life in a beautiful garden.”
I remember as a child (and still, today) being fascinated by grass growing from cracks in the sidewalk. How could life spring from something so barren? Celia has done the same, and once again, I am fascinated. Well into her seventies, with every story she shares she somehow radiates sunshine from her eyes with the innocence of a child, and the collective wisdom of generations long ago. She has learned the secret of living peacefully amidst a chaotic and broken society, doing more than her part to leave the world more beautiful than she found it.
Sad Goodbyes
I can’t believe my work here is almost coming to an end! It feels like just yesterday (or a couple days ago) that I was getting off the plane in Maputo – uncertain, nervous, and excited as to what this entire experience would be like. I still remember flipping over and over (and over) again through my copy of all of FDM´s Kiva clients, wondering what it would be like to meet them face to face. In fact, I looked at those pictures so many times that every time I met a client, I could literally see their picture and their description in my mind.
I met a client the other day who I found truly amazing. Not only was she incredibly warm, inviting, and generous, but I have absolutely NO idea how she does what she does everyday. She teaches primary school in the mornings, runs her business as a very successful seamstress in the afternoons (she has clients that leave orders with her from all across Mozambique), and travels to the capital of Maputo every night to take classes so she can start teaching secondary school. Yet, what I admired most about her was what she calls her most cherished and long held dream, hoping one day to open her own primary school to serve the local impoverished children. Education, she tells me, is the most important component to developing the area and creating a stronger Mozambique, and she dreams of a better future for her children and the next generations. She already has the course materials prepared, and has a step by step plan to realize her goal. As she explains, she first hopes to open the school at her home early next year until she has saved enough to purchase an old, abandoned home nearby to set up a proper school there. She projects that she will be able to begin enrolling students in January and hopes to open the school by the end of that month! Additionally, her husband is a disabled war veteran and she currently supports her children entirely with the profits from her business and current salary as a teacher. Needless to say, the women here never cease to amaze me, and I’ll miss having the opportunity to meet women like her everyday when I go home in a couple weeks.
At the same time, some of the most telling and moving experiences have come from meeting clients of FDM who are not on the Kiva website (for everyone one Kiva client, I usually accompany the loan officer when they visited two others for FDM). There was one client in particular who is no longer receiving loans from FDM because she has put her business on hold, but the promotora wanted to stop by and visit nonetheless. She has been sick for quite a while now, almost six months, and when she went to the local clinic (the one and only time) they simply told her that it was malaria and sent her back home. While she received some general form of treatment, she her health has been getting worse and she was forced to stop her business selling charcoal and can no longer pay for loans. Her promotora tells me that there are days that she will stop by and the client can’t even get out of bed, and while she keeps telling her to go the clinic and take an HIV test, her client has yet to take her advice – not because of the cost but because she’s too frightened to go. We sit down to talk for an hour or so as the loan officer reminds her again to go to the hospital, seek the tests and the treatments she needs if not for herself, but for her son who has no one else if something were to happen to her. It truly touched me to see how much the loan officer cared, how much she wanted her old client to get better and see her healthy, happy, and doing well. Her client finally tells her that she will go next week, her usual answer, and as we walk back to the main road to catch our next bus to take us to our next client, I’m left to wonder what will happen to her and her young son if she doesn’t get better.
This entire experience has left me irreversibly changed and the lessons I´ve learned I will carry with me the rest of my life. Sure there are a couple moments I would rather forget. For example, I have helped push chapas out of ditches, shared the back of trucks with goats and other various livestock, and waded through puddles of mud (and trash) 10 inches deep, but I would trade any of these experiences for anything. The women I´ve met her have inspired me to be a stronger person (literally – as Roslyn describes, women three times my age have skipped past me balancing buckets of water or multiple sacks of potatoes on their heads) as well as reassess my understanding of what it means to be successful and what it takes to be happy. I can honestly say that all the clients I have met have been nothing but gracious, warm, and have welcomed me into their homes like members of their own family. Without a second thought, they share much cherished information not only about their businesses, but about their children, their hardships, and their dreams for the future. During our talks, one of the best moments usually comes at the end – when I take their picture. Some simply smile, some strike a well practiced pose, some run into their homes first to change and fix their hair, and other gather their children and spouses to make it a family shot. After, I always show them the picture I’ve taken on my digital camera, and every single time, without fail, they´re positively beaming. I tell them that the picture is beautiful, and they laugh and can´t help but agree.
What will I miss most? Without out a doubt, I will miss being able to wake up every morning knowing that I will meet people that day who I will say goodbye to ever-so-slightly, but forever changed. I will miss working with the promotoras who have taught me what it means to work hard and live a life doing something you love to do. Not to mention the fact that FDM is simply an amazing organization. I just now realize that I’ve have yet to mention FDM´s administrative head, Ana Maria, who will always my role model, the person I will strive to emulate – ceaselessly diligent, intelligent, and devoted to the organization (and the workers and clients here at FDM respect and adore her). She is currently spearheading innovative projects to further serve FDM’s clients which include agricultural initiatives where they will begin selling plots of cultivated land next year for clients to run their own farms as well as plans to begin training rural clients in cattle raising. I feel so lucky to have had the opportunity to work with all three of FDM´s different offices, and have every intention of returning to Mozambique one day to visit and maybe even work them again.
I was told before I left that when the time would come to leave, I would want to say and I can honestly say that that person was right. I feel like there’s so much more to learn, so many more things to experience, more inspiring people to meet, and so much more I could do, but sadly I’ve been postponing school and my classes long enough.
It’s been an incredible, strange, difficult, exhilarating, and life-changing experience and I want to thank Kiva and Kiva´s wonderful lenders for having given me the opportunity to take this adventure.
Also, I have no idea if they will ever read this, but time to give a shout-out to all the workers of FDM that have made this experience so incredible – Ana Maria, Leopoldina, Esmeralda, Don, Bridgette, Margarida, Sandra, Rosalina, Suzette, Minarsanda, Ricardina, Edineria, Dercia, Jamie, Francisco, Ricardo, Arcenia, Madalena, Lidia, Rosa, Nelizarda, Elina, Ermelinda, Arcenia, Benevenita, Irenia, Simoes, Ilda, Ana, Zelia, Brito, Roda, Deocleciana, Esmeralda, Eulalia, Ana, Marta, Adelso, Carmelia, and Manuela! I will miss you all so much, and thank you.
Finally, while this will be my last blog from Mozambique, inspired by Drew Kinder´s wonderful write-up on Sam, I will be doing the same by giving you all a glimpse into the history of Fundo de Desenvolvimento da Mulher and their amazing Executive Director, Ana Maria. I regret to say I don´t have the amazing specifics that Drew provided in his own blog, but I will try my best to do FDM and Ana Maria justice and reveal a little more of what makes FDM such a powerful organization.
What I learned
It was 3 months ago that I stepped off the plane and into the tropical Samoan rain. It seems those same storm clouds have gathered on my last day on the island to see me off. Over the course of my stay, I’d like to think that I learned a few of things.
I’ve learned of the incredible dedication and hard-work it takes for the staff of a small MFI like SPBD to run its operations.
I’ve learned that despite their demanding daily schedules, the SPBD staff rarely shows signs of stress or frustration. I think I’ll have a better chance of mastering the Samoan language in my remaining hours here than encountering a similar work environment back in North America.
I’ve learned that I have yet to scratch the surface of understanding the complex Pacific way of life. The faa Samoa is a riddle, wrapped in a conundrum, wrapped in taro leaves.
I’ve learned how to snorkel, how to change a tire, and how to subsist on an alternating diet of corned beef and Yellowfin tuna. I’m not yet sure how useful that last bit will prove to be.
I’ve learned that, despite not having any international volunteering experience prior to this, I was able to survive for three months in a country many of my friends have never heard of before.
I’ve learned to appreciate how lucky I am to not have to worry about running water or working electricity. One of the great perks of travel is that it often provides a measure of perspective on your own life.
And finally, I’ve learned that that the loans made through Kiva are helping the proud women of Samoa to take advantage of their talents and resourcefulness. It’s been a real honour to have helped out in any way.
Tofa Soifua
Mirembe Youth Development Project
Kampala, Uganda Florence Kaluuba is a soft spoken 50 year old school principal who won’t accept no for an answer.
As a teenager she was a brilliant student, excelling in mathematics. At a time when she ranked 8th out of 160 students, her uncle refused to allow her to enroll in the next higher grade level, where she hoped to become a medical doctor. Florence still remembers his words, “She is a girl, and girls just get pregnant anyway”. The uncle decided she would train to be a primary school teacher, which required much less education.
Florence enrolled in primary school teacher training, where, not surprisingly, she finished at the top of her class. She subsequently taught at two of the leading primary schools in Kampala. After a number of years, Florence wished to move up to high school but she lacked the requisite degree. Undeterred, Florence studied the four year curriculum in her free time and passed the qualifying exams without ever entering a classroom. Later, she earned a degree in Management with honors through correspondence from Cambridge University.
Florence founded Mirembe School in response to a 1996 study entitled “Why girls drop out of school and defilement of adolescent girls”. In the course of our interview, the term defilement was used to variously describe the rape of young girls by a brother, a father, and a teacher.
The goal of Mirembe School is to equip youth with developmental education for employment and life skills for survival. The students are almost exclusively girls from age 15-19 who have dropped out of school due to pregnancy and have been ostracized by their parents and family.
Florence and her small staff train the girls to be nursery school teachers, tailors, craft makers, or elementary school teachers (if they have enough formal education). In Uganda, nursery school teachers are given lodging and allowed to bring their children to school, which is an important benefit for these destitute young mothers.
Her belief is that no youth is a failure. She provides counseling as well as training. She promotes sexual abstinence to reduce pre-marital sex, unwanted pregnancy and abortion. Students are given information to reduce the risk of HIV/AIDS and sexually transmitted disease. Florence works hard to restore their spiritual and traditional values.
Florence will not reject a young girl, no matter what her ability to pay. Even though Mirembe charges far less tuition than other programs such as the YMCA/YWCA, most of her girls cannot afford to pay. If she is lucky, monthly tuition from current and former students covers the rent.
The remainder of school overhead is paid by Florence out of her paycheck. She works as a contract social worker for the office of the wife of the President of Uganda. Florence conducts seminars and trains teenage counselors to conduct “peer to peer” counseling of other teenagers.
This week, Florence paid the final installment on a $1200 loan from Kiva through Share an Opportunity Microfinance Ltd. She borrowed the money to purchase a desktop computer, scanner and copier. The loan payment came out of her paycheck earned the previous week.
Florence reported the computer has been very important to the school. She not only trains students on it, but she also uses it to scan photos and print teaching materials; services which were previously outsourced at a high cost.
Florence has written a book, The Joy of Parenting, the first copy of which was typed, scanned and printed on the new computer. She hopes to publish 3,000-4,000 copies of the book with the help of the Children’s Writers Association. She will keep 1,000 copies for the school and sell the balance to generate income.
Florence will not abandon her students. Once, when money was tight, and she was considering closing the school, students came to her home tearfully begging her to continue. She looked me in the eye and said “I can’t stop now”.
Since its inception, the Mirembe School has graduated 500 girls, many of whom call Florence “mother”.
When I asked her what he dream in life is, she replied a bigger school, with no rent, in a quiet area where more girls can be nurtured and trained.
Her challenges are a steadily growing flock of defiled girls, the monthly rent check, a need for more counselors to share her emotional burden, and finding financial partners and supporters.
In her personal life, Florence has corrected the inequities of her own childhood. She is one of 13 children in a polygamous marriage involving 2 wives. Her mother, who was the second wife, was dropped. Florence was sent away to live with her father’s father, a tribal chieftain in northern Uganda.
Florence is happily married to her husband of 25 years, a university professor in electrical engineering. Of their five children, the oldest boy is an engineer and the oldest girl, who inherited her mother’s love of mathematics, studies statistics at Makerere University, Uganda’s leading university. The younger children are in high school.
As I said goodbye to Florence, my impression of this soft spoken woman with a soft spot in her heart for defenseless young girls is that she is as tough as nails. Somehow, some way, Florence will find a way to make the Mirembe Youth Development Project and the Mirembe School continue. This is not a woman who takes no for an answer.
Florence Kaluuba can be reached at mirembeyod@yahoo.co.uk.
Ayacucho
Ayacucho, Peru has a sad story. In the 80s and early 90s, it was there that the terrorist group Sendero Luminoso, ‘the Shining Path’, was thriving, fighting political and social battles that left 30,000 dead and 40,000 who remain missing. Setting foot in Ayacucho today, you’d never guess its painful history, and although not opposed to talking about it, the locals rarely mention it without being asked.
On a client visit, riding in the back of a moto-taxi through the bustling life of Ayacucho, we head out past the cobblestone streets and abundant colonial churches of the beautiful city, and cross over to the pothole-ridden dirt roads that run parallel to shanty houses where men are building adobe bricks that lay out in the sun to dry. The promotora (loan officer) I am with leans over to me and whispers ‘this is where the Shining Path had their graveyard’. The land we are driving over served as a dumping ground for bodies just 15 years ago. The terrorists would dispose of bodies without a care, dumping one on top of the other in the open air, left to rot with the company of thousands of other innocent victims. Families missing loved ones would travel to this site and dig through bodies, having given up hope of finding their loved ones alive, but clinging to the hope of identifying their body and giving them a proper burial.
Today the Shining Path is virtually extinct, although occasional outbursts have occurred. Ayacucho is rebuilding their city and their culture day by day, with homes and roads covering the old graveyard, but the tragedy of the recent decades is still very present. With 40,000 people still unaccounted for, most residents of the city have friends or family members directly affected by the terrible events that changed their lives forever.
The air here is different, and I’m not sure if it’s the history of the town I now know, or the fallen souls breathing their stories, asking me to listen, but it has my attention, and I am listening. I take advantage of this open communication to ask the promotora a question that’s been riding heavy on my heart since starting my fellowship with Kiva. Although one hundred percent certain that Kiva is making an incredible difference in the lives of not only the entrepreneurs, but the lenders as well, I can’t help but wonder what the men and women think about having their lives publicized and broadcast for the world to see; I wonder if they privately feel it’s an invasion. I ask the promotora, holding my breath for her answer, fearing she will say yes, but instead, she smiles and becomes overcome with joy. ‘Maren,’ she says, ‘I understand your concern, it is valid, but you have to understand something. These women have been forgotten by the world, their country, their community. No one notices them, no one cares. They are invisible. The idea that someone, especially the intangible concept of someone they’ve never met, has taken an interest in them and wants to know their story and share in their life, well it’s just an indescribable joy.’
Her answer brings tears to my eyes, and I feel a sense of justification and love for what I’m a part of here. She goes on to tell me that Finca has given them a chance when no one else would. These women trust Finca, when others have taken advantage, and it shows. When you first knock at their door, they are hesitant to talk to a strange person, very reserved and ready with excuses for not being able to talk. But the second they hear the word Finca, their eyes light up as if to say ‘why didn’t you say so?!’, and they invite you in as family, eager to share their world with a new friend.
One woman I met shared a very intimate story with me. Her father had beaten her mother severely for years and years, in the presence of their eight children. Her mother had every piece of strength beaten out of her and was left defenseless, living her life in submission and pain. Fourteen years ago, her husband left her for a younger woman, and although a blessing that there was no more abuse, she was left with no money, no job, no strength, and the responsibility of raising eight children alone. Because she had no capital, she had no chance of getting help from a regular bank. She was referred to Finca, and with faith they gave her a small loan, and bit-by-bit she pulled her family out of the sudden poverty in which they’d found themselves. Not only was she able to become financially self-sufficient, but Finca also taught her how to believe in herself, how to remain strong in the presence of weakness, how to love and respect, and how to raise her children to do the same. They taught her how to live, not just survive. Two years ago, her husband came back. Somehow she found the strength to forgive him and welcome him home, but according to her rules. She lives happily now with him, living with the values that Finca taught her and staying strong, free of abuse, both emotional and physical.
Hearing this story and the reaffirming words of the promotora, both coming from a city that so recently was darkened by terrorism and hatred, gives me hope and faith for a world with so much darkness. Good can come from evil, hope from desperation, love from hate, and life from death. I’m not sure exactly what to do with that yet, but the realization is a start…
FAQ’s
Friends and family have asked about the mundane details of my life as a Kiva Fellow in Uganda. “Where do you live?”and “What is your job?” are two frequently asked questions (FAQ’s).
Where I live:
I am a resident of the Kolping Guest House on Bombo Road in the Bwaise neighborhood of Kampala. The Kolping is part of a worldwide chain of guesthouses operated by the International Kolping Society which was founded by Adolph Kolping as a Catholic, educational and action-oriented organization. Fr. Kolping was born on December 8, 1813, in Kerpen, a small village not far from Cologne. There are Kolping houses all across the globe, including one in the Manhattan and many in Europe and Africa.
I like this place for a number of reasons;
· It is incredibly clean, which has more than a little appeal after returning from a dusty day in Kampala and the surrounding countryside. The Kolping has a full time cleaning staff, but when the other employees have a free moment, they also find something to clean. I recently saw one of the dining room staff gently bathing the leaves of a potted plant on the terrace, removing dust that had gone unnoticed by me, but not by the Kolping staff.
· It is quiet and spacious. Kampala is a bustling city of over a million people. My mode of transportation is the ubiquitous 14 passenger taxi vans that ply most of the main roads. I’ve gotten accustomed to having my 6’2” frame jammed into a crowded, un-air conditioned van, often stalled in heavy traffic, in hot, steamy weather.
My room at the Kolping is quiet and my balcony overlooks a grassy courtyard set back several hundred yards from the noise and fumes of Bombo Road. At the end of the day I enjoy relaxing on the balcony, sipping a cold Bell beer, and quietly reflecting on the events of the day. At dawn I am awakened by the Muslim call to prayer broadcast from a nearby mosque, and I enjoy watching birds fly by as the sun rises over the hills of Kampala.
· 
The Kolping has a restaurant, which is a major consideration for a clueless husband like me who has not cooked for himself in over 30 years. I start the day with a complimentary breakfast of 2 eggs, toast, fruit, juice and hot brewed coffee. I often eat dinner there also, ordering from a non-controversial menu that agrees with my American digestive system.
· The TV in my room is inoperative and the TV in the restaurant is permanently tuned to an English soccer game, which I generally ignore, unless I am really bored. This is good. One my the goals on this trip is to wean myself from the 24 hour TV news/sports cycle back home. That shouldn’t be a problem at the Kolping House.
What I do at work: Back in October, when I was given access to the Kiva training material, I quickly paged through the documents looking for a Fellows job description. There wasn’t one. The duties of a Kiva Fellow are largely undefined to allow for maximum flexibility once we arrive at our overseas destination. Essentially, we are assigned to a Microfinance Institution (MFI) to make the relationship between the MFI and Kiva run as smoothly as possible. The role of the Kiva Fellow varies according to the needs of the MFI.
In my case, I sat down with the manager Share an Opportunity (SAO) for four hours on my first day at work. We talked about the history of the business and the most pressing needs of the organization. Based on that conversation, I was able to create five objectives to accomplish prior to my departure on February 20, 2008.
Objective #1. To visit all 45 entrepreneurs in the Kiva/ SAO portfolio, and visit at least six SAO branded SACCO’s (Savings and Credit Cooperative Societies), out of a total of fourteen , for the purpose of collecting information, and writing and publishing journals for the Kiva website.
This is one of the few formal Kiva requirements. It serves three purposes;
1. It acts as field audit to confirm that the money loaned by Kiva lenders actually went to the person shown on the website and that the loan is being repaid.
2. It provides feed back in the form of Journals which are published on the Kiva website and are emailed to every lender who funded the Kiva loan.
3. It helps me learn about microfinance at the grass roots level.
Objective #2: Help create and execute a new SAO product; “Business Skills Training Course” targeted to existing and potential direct borrowing clients.
a. Review development of the program to date
b. Finish the written program and prepare presentation materials by mid-December.
c. Promote “Business Skills Seminars” to SAO customers and prospects in December
d. Schedule seminars and participate in presentations in Jan/Feb
e. Train SAO personnel to conduct subsequent seminars after I leave
Objective #3: Help create a stand-alone website for SAO MF distinct and separate from SAO Uganda
a. Familiarize myself with the customer requirements of SAO clients.
b. Review the current SAO Uganda website for useful content.
c. Design new content and user –friendly website architecture for the new site.
d. Launch a new website by 15 Feb, 2008
Objective #4: To assist SAO MF in obtaining sources of funding to compliment KIVA’s funding, so that KIVA represents no more than 30% of SAO’s funding as of 15 Feb, 2008.
Objective #5: Review and revise the SAO Business Plan/Strategic Plan by 30 Jan 2008.
a. Review existing Strategic Plan
b. Make suggestions based on practical experience with SAO customers and SAO staff
c. Integrate suggestions, if accepted, into Business Plan
Just about everything I do during the workday relates to accomplishing one of those objectives.
In addition, Kiva recently asked me to train another Microfinance Institution that recently became a Kiva partner in Uganda. I will be delivering that briefing on Saturday, December 15. If this account requests additional support, I will follow up as directed by Kiva.
That pretty much answers my FAQ’s.
Microfinance Plus-Plus
Kampala, Uganda I’m learning there is more to microfinance than simply loaning money to poor people. My boss at Share an Opportunity (SAO) took me on a field trip to Ngogwe, a village about 40 miles outside of Kampala, to show me what he calls “Microfinance Plus-Plus”.
The elements of SAO’s “Microfinance Plus-Plus” are;
1. Rural Development. SAO focuses on rural development, where 90% of Ugandans live and work. Improving economic opportunities in the countryside reduces the incentive for urban migration, which is a serious problem throughout Africa. As you can see from this picture, the streets of downtown Ngogwe are not exactly clogged with traffic. I found this to be a beautiful area. Lush and green, with red topsoil and abundant rainfall, Ngogwe appears to have the potential to support a robust agricultural economy.
2. Enterprise Solutions. SAO encourages “enterprise solutions” to agricultural planning, 
value addition and collective marketing of crops as opposed to subsistence farming by individuals.
Share an Opportunity helped form a Community Based Organization (CBO), called the “Ngogwe Integrated Community Development Association”. Made up primarily of local farmers working on very small plots of land, the association encourages its members to focus on maize (corn) production. Maize is well adapted, and with two harvests a year, it is an excellent “cash crop”. Demand from drought-stricken Kenya and war-torn Sudan is good, and worldwide corn prices have strengthened in competition with ethanol.
I found this hand lettered statement of principles on the wall in the CBO office.
3. Savings Mentality. Share an Opportunity trains borrowers to save rather than spend when times are good. Poverty reduction requires savings, but villagers often spend all they take in. I saw this poster in the SACCO (Savings and Credit Cooperative Society) office, illustrating the benefit of saving for educational expenses.
4. 
Value Addition. The SACCO loaned money to the Community Based Organization (CBO) to build and operate processing and storage facilities that add value to the crop, thus maximizing financial return to the community. With SAO’s help, the SACCO financed the purchase of two hammer mills used to transform dry corn into corn flour, increasing the value of the crop 200-300%. They also loaned money for the storage facility shown in this picture. This storehouse enables the accumulation of a large enough quantity of corn flour to attract wholesale buyers and allows the CBO to withhold product from the market when prices are low.
5. 
Best Practices. SAO informs farmers of the latest and best agronomic practices. Through the SACCO, they finance crop inputs such as improved seed and fertilizer. Increased production per acre and improved soil fertility reduces the “slash and burn” practice of clearing virgin land, using it for two crops (one year), and then abandoning the land as treeless scrub. This picture shows “Tall 6” hybrid corn, a variety developed by Ugandan plant breeders. Properly fertilized, this variety will produce high yields on the same plot of ground year after year.
6. Retained Earnings. The money earned in Ngogwe is saved and loaned within the community, again and again; providing the foundation for future growth and more poverty reduction. This picture shows a new classroom and dormitory building at the Ngogwe private school financed with a loan from the Ngogwe SACCO.
The benefits of microfinance are plain to see in Ngogwe:
This is just one village in a country the size of Oregon. Share and Opportunity is just one of many Microfinance Institutions in Uganda.
As “Microfinance Plus Plus” is repeated hundreds and thousands of times across Uganda, you can envision a more stable country with less poverty, less urban migration, less environmental damage, and greater food security for its people.
Swahili Blunders
Learning more about Tanzanian culture has been a fascinating journey thus far. Like most things in life, the more I learn, the more I discover how little I know. As my relationships slowly deepen with my colleagues at Tujijenge Tanzania and with other new friends, I’m beginning to gradually pick up more insights into their culture– their high values of community and unity, and how everything seems to happen according to the belief “if God wills” –a phrase used frequently in everyday interactions (and especially to explain the common occurrence of when things don’t happen as planned).
One of my favorite parts of the day is chatting with staff at the office during lunch and tea times. My translator (a woman in her fifties) and I are now on a level of friendship where we can swap stories that amuse each other due to our cultural differences. I am shocked by her stories about polygamy and witchcraft, and other intriguing topics. Among many other things, she is shocked at my American interaction with my parents, finding it hard to believe that I no longer have to ask permission to stay a night at a friend’s, etc. She also laughs at my “indifference” toward my current wardrobe– a mixture of traditional Tanzanian wear and some typical American business-casual. She has nicely pointed out to me which clothes she thinks look “bad” on me. Ironically enough, her favorites are my western clothes– the ones that conceal my efforts to try to fit in culturally. They are also the clothes that (for some strange reason) make me look really young here and have often given me the “student discount” when riding public transportation!!
While I have been trying to pick up the language, I have had many moments of embarrassment in this difficult process. Here are a few of my Swahili blunders for you to enjoy:
- Once, I told my translator in a van taxi to “sit on her butt.” After she and the entire van laughed at my ignorant rudeness, I learned that this phrase was falsely indicated as being proper in my Say it in Swahili book.
- Another time in a van taxi, instead of asking a client if he had a wife, I accidentally used a word that would generally mean an “old woman.” As if this wasn’t bad enough, in this specific context, I found out that I was really asking him if he had a “mistress.” Although forgiving of my blunder, he understandably didn’t want to answer any more of my questions in the crowded vehicle!!
- One time, out on the field, I unknowingly asked a client if she could “manage her husband.”
- On the way to work one morning, a guy walking past on the road joked with me that I was his “mchumba” or fiancé. At the time, I mistook the word for “chumba” meaning “room,” and so nicely agreed with him, thinking he was referring to something about the location of where I lived. He responded overly happy, so when I reached the office, I had someone clear the confusion for me. Fortunately, I haven’t run into him again since!
- This past Thursday at the office, I accidentally told a client, “Please, sit down on your one, small bottom.”
I have quickly learned in these past two months that Tanzanians are not only friendly, but they are very forgiving as well. For my sake (and for Kiva’s reputation!!), you should be happy to know that I have just started taking weekly Swahili lessons! My tutor, a neighbor of mine, is a government-paid teacher who holds a master’s degree but has yet to earn a salary indicating this credential. To support his family, he and his wife constantly search for additional odd jobs to get by– a common story I have encountered here.
Mpaka baadaye “until next time,” Dana
Preparing A Loom
So…with our MFI (Maxima), we visit a lot of people who make a living by weaving cloth. With extant samples of hand-woven cloth dating from 5000 BC, weaving must be one of the world’s oldest ways to make money.
More than two hundred years ago, the Industrial Revolution introduced processes that, to this day, have passed by the villages and the people we visit. The looms that Maxima’s clients use are hand-made and the technology has not changed for many decades if not longer.
There appears to be a range of skill levels and ambitions among loom operators. Some weave simple, one-color cloth. Some weave with blends of different thread – silk, cotton or nylon. Some weave cloth with a pattern that runs down one long side. Occasionally, we see some working looms with many suspended ‘templates’ that separate the threads of the “warp” allowing the weaver to create complex patterns. (The following photo shows a loom with many templates.)
It can take years to learn to weave high-quality cloth. Watching the ladies (and occasional man) work made we wonder about how they even get started. By this, I don’t mean how they learn to weave. I mean how the loom gets set up before any weaving can take place.
Our loan officers talked about “preparing” the loom but I’d never seen this process. I was clueless as to what might actually be involved until one day we drove past two women sitting on a small platform in front of a house (see second photo above). They were in the process of setting up a loom. We stopped for a closer look and I was fascinated by the complexity of the work. Thread, often cotton or silk, needs to be stretched between two parallel wooden rods or boards and maintained with equal tension (see first photo at top and photo below). These longitudinal threads are called the “warp”. With the looms in this area, the warp typically spans a distance of three meters and is eighty or so centimeters wide.
Between each wooden anchoring rod are templates or walls of vertcal separating strings which I think are called “heddles” (see photo). The loom preparer winds bulk thread around the board at one end of the loom, threads it string-by-string through the templates or heddles.
The threads are each strung again through a comb-like piece of flat metal that is used to beat the “weave” thread uniformly into place. (see following photo) This process requires two people, a specialized hook tool and what must be fantastic eyesight….not to mention phenominal patience.
The teeth or tines of the comb (which I think is called the “reed”) are so finely cut that you can see through them. Over the width of this reed there were 2,600 threads . . . each one threaded, tied and tensioned equally!
A typical loom takes a month to set up and can be used for perhaps three to four. For this . . . the loom preparer makes about (US) $30-$40! Amazing…
If you’re curious about more Cambodian weaving information, you can see any of these links:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cambodian_clothing
http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9B05E2DD163FF933A15757C0A961958260
http://www.leisurecambodia.com/Leisure_Cambodia/No.07/culture.htm
http://www.eicambodia.org/events/upfile/EXPORT_DIVERSIFICATION_VALUEADDITION_by_Vuthy.pdf
Guayaquil, Ecuador
Greetings from Ecuador! My name is Elizabeth Li and I am here as a Kiva Fellow working with MFI Mifex. Hard to believe I’ve been here for 2months already with just over 2weeks to go. Due to access difficulties I have not been able to blog until recently. Reading all the other blogs here I’m reminded of one thread that ties us fellows together despite being in distinctly different cultures across the world: living abroad in the developing world is a true challenge!
Mifex operates out of two offices located in the marginalized urban sectors of Guayaquil. Millions of people live here in cane houses on dirt roads with no access to running water or many of the conveniences we take for granted today. As I accompany loan officers on their visits in the field I am reminded daily of how luxurious my life back home is each time I am confronted with the sights, smells, and the blistering heat of this area. This is a shout out to the loan officers at Mifex. Every morning they set out early with a list of old and potentially new clients to visit. However, it’s not as simple as a car ride over — they stand by the side of the main road often for up to 30minutes waiting for the bus that will take them into the sector where their clients live. Standing there with the dust and dirt blowing in your face, breathing the diesel-laden air that makes your lungs want to give out, all the while trying to not let the heat and humidity get to you is hard work. The days I have gone out on visits with them we sit in the bus, talking and having good conversation, but it’s hard not to notice and gawk at the conditions on the streets: the ubiquitous flea-infested stray dogs, uncontained trash, young children who have to peddle instead of going to school. Often I wonder how these meetings with clients actually take place; it’s usually a verbal agreement made to meet on such and such corner across from the church after 9am. The lack of cell phone signal or a street sign to help us out certainly complicates matters, but add in the Latin sense of time and we’re talking about more waiting by the side of the road desperately wishing for shelter from the sun! Often we don’t know who we’re looking for, especially if it’s a new client, so it’s a good thing they can easily pick out “la chinta” and the uniformed very professional looking person. The other day we were standing across from the church waiting, and starting to wonder after 30minutes if this church was the same one the client was referring to. We were then surprised when a crickety old red pick-up truck pulled up alongside us and told us to jump in. Now, having seen and experienced how people drive I honestly was loathe to get in the back of this truck, but I convinced myself it was part of the experience of being here. So, in we went and I tried to contain myself as we bounced along the dirt road that seemed to have more potholes than smooth stretches. It amazes me when you have a certain picture in your mind of how large an area is and when reality blows that image away. Rows and rows after rows of cane-houses, some barely standing upright, some with hardly a roof. First I was shocked by how people live, now I was struck by just how many people live in these dire circumstances.
After completing the initial loan evaluation the loan officer did not believe the client met the criteria required for a loan. We climbed back into the pickup for the ride which was graciously offered to us. I knew I just wanted to get back to the office to cool off and get out from under the sun because I was hot, sweaty, tired, and disappointed that we could not be of assistance to this person. I certainly hope I find the persistence to keep up with this! But more so I have a great admiration for the loan officers who stretch themselves to the limit day after day to reach out to those who are really in need.
Hawkers
My limit for walking around Ghana in the daytime here is about ten minutes. I’m in pretty good physical condition, it’s just that after the fifth minute I start feeling like I dived in a pool with my clothes on. At that point I find an excuse to go indoors, take my backpack off, and cool off before heading out again.
The other day I had opportunity to interview Elizabeth Quenoo. She doesn’t have the capital to open a shop yet, so she walks and sells with her products balanced on her head from sunrise to sunset. Elizabeth “hawks” pots and metal bowls.
On top of carrying heavy loads in the heat, hawkers simultaniously dodge speeding tro-tros, avoid giant open ditches in the roads, and breath in loads of car fumes, and sprent away from IRS agents. They are also more susceptible to malaria, headaches, neck pains, frequent fevers, and general muscle pains from being outdoors over an extended period of time. Here I am about to collapse after walking ten minutes, and all these women are hawking with 30 or so pounds of products on their heads. The entrepreneurial spirit of Sinapi women never ceases to amaze me.
Rose Kasoma, Ugandan Entrepreneur
I first met Rose Kasoma at the office of Share an Opportunity (SAO) Microfinance, Ltd in Kampala, Uganda where she came to pay the monthly installment on her $1,200 loan funded by Kiva lenders. We talked briefly and I asked permission to visit her.
On November 30, 2007, accompanied by Stuart Tamale, a young college educated Ugandan loan officer working for SAO, we went to Rose’s store.
The store is well located in the Ugandan version of a strip mall near a “round-about” on a busy thoroughfare on the outskirts of Kampala. All shops in the brick strip mall open to the outside air toward the road. There were approximately ten shops in the mall, all the same size; about 5 paces wide and 5 paces deep. Rose’s store was well stocked, clean, and the merchandise was nicely displayed. I saw no shops in the immediate area offering the same product selection as Rose. Her shelves were better stocked than some nearby shops.
When we arrived at 9 am, Rose’s youngest son Brian was alone in the store. Brian was well dressed and polite. Like his mother, he is soft spoken. Brian is 14 years old and on vacation from Senior 2 grade, which is the equivalent of ninth grade in the US.
Next, Stuart took me to Rose’s home. It was not easy to find. He navigated down a winding dirt path to a dead end. Rose’s compound, perched on the edge of a swampy jungle inhabited by monkeys, consists of a small brick house, a brick chicken coop, a broken down confinement structure for her 3 cows, and an outhouse.
Rose greeted us warmly. We talked as she hacked stalks of sugar cane into foot long segments for sale at the store. At one point, she went to the chicken coop, removed a chicken, gently calmed the frightened animal, and then proceeded to offer it to me as a gift. I was overwhelmed by her generosity, considering this bird represented a significant portion of her farm assets. I declined the gift, explaining that I didn’t know how to cook (or butcher) a chicken, and I was staying in a hotel with no kitchen. I thanked her profusely for the offer.
Rose is one of seven children. Her husband, who was away the day we visited, is also one of seven children. Rose’s father refused to pay tuition for her schooling but her mother somehow found money to pay for Rose’s limited education. Her understanding of English is excellent, but she preferred to answer my questions in the local language, which Stuart translated.
Rose has two sons and one daughter. The oldest son, Nicholas, is in medical school training to be a doctor. The daughter, Victoria, is in nursing school. We met the younger son Brian at the store. Rose does not intend to have more children.
Rose first became acquainted with SAO Uganda when its social service component gave her tuition assistance for Nicholas and Victoria in elementary school.
When I asked Rose how business was going, she said it was only “so-so”. Sales are stable, and with the Kiva loan she is able to maintain a good inventory of general merchandise for her customers. Occasionally she is asked to extend credit, but she resists because she has to make her monthly loan repayments. She pays cash for her stock and does not accept trade credit when offered. Rose is a serious, but cautious businesswoman.
The big event in Rose’s life right now is a small plot of land her husband recently inherited in a nearby township. The ground is well drained and more suitable for raising livestock than their current swampy location. She and her husband would like to move there and add pigs to their collection of cows and chickens. To do this they will need money to build a new home and farm buildings. When I asked if she would sell her current home, she quickly replied no, it was being saved for the children.
When I asked Rose what her dream in life is, she paused, and then explained that she is old and wants to retire to the new farm to raise livestock. Rose is much younger than I am, but the average life expectancy in Uganda is less than 50, so she considers herself old. She often works till midnight at the store. Although her children are well educated, Rose understands the vagaries of Uganda’s economy well enough to also train them to be self-sufficient entrepreneurs, in case all else fails. She intends to pass the store on to one or more of the children.
Our interview ended as we delivered Rose to her store. It was time for work, not talk, so I bid her goodbye with confidence that Kiva’s funds are well invested and secure.
My First Field Visit
Since arriving in Kenya I have been yearning to meet Kiva clients, to see the effects of Kiva and microfinance with my own eyes. Over the years I have read many books and articles about microfinance, but nothing can take the place of seeing the smiles on the clients’ faces as they watch customers file in and out of their shops – often as a direct result of their Kiva loan. I not only saw clients who had been given the opportunity to increase their incomes, I saw people with a newfound sense of pride, accomplishment, and confidence. I can now attest to the fact that Kiva loans really are loans that change lives…it’s not just a clever slogan!
We visited clients in Mlolongo, a rapidly growing town on the Mombasa Highway, just outside of Nairobi. What was only recently considered an informal settlement has grown due to the high traffic of transport trucks and is now considered a town. Mlolongo has a rapidly growing population and subsequently a rapid increase in businesses and homes. On the morning of our field visit, it had been raining. The roads are unpaved, and there is no drainage system for excess water. So it was mud, puddles, and careful steps for us! Everywhere we looked, we could see new houses being built to accommodate the influx of people coming to live in the town. Many recently-opened businesses lined the muddy streets. Unfortunately for those who can’t afford a stall or a shop from which to operate their business, a rainy day means that they can’t lay out their goods on the street for sale. One of the Kiva clients was one such unfortunate business-owner who had no choice but to accept the fact that she could make no sales until the weather cleared up. But the weather was no deterrent for the other Kiva clients I had the pleasure of meeting.
Instead of singling out a few of the clients, I want to express my overall feeling after my field visit. (If you want to learn more about the individual clients in Mlolongo, check out the journal entries I have posted for Action Now: Kenya.) Leaving Mlolongo, I had some time to digest what I had just seen and experienced while I sat in two hours of diesel-infused air while stuck in the notorious Nairobi traffic. My first thought was of the overwhelming display of entrepreneurship and determination in each of the clients. Each has suffered their own set of hardships, each has accepted financial responsibility for their families and often extended families or orphans in the area, and each has been proactive in helping themselves to rise out of poverty. That’s something that has always intrigued me about microfinance. In my eyes, the old saying, “It takes money to make money”, is only half of the economic development equation. It takes money and determination to make money, especially in the developing world where adversity often outweighs opportunity.
Secondly, as I mentioned earlier, I saw the difference a small loan can make. Most of the clients we visited used their loan to purchase inventory or materials in bulk for their shop. There are so many benefits from doing so: a bigger selection for customers (creating competitive advantage over other, similar shops), a price discount for buying in bulk (allowing for greater profits), and less travel time to go to Nairobi to make their purchases (reducing costs in both time and money), to name a few. Many of the clients said they wanted to become a wholesaler to supply other shops in the area with material or goods. The boost a Kiva loan can give to their business sets the stage for the future ability to do so. From an economic standpoint, a wholesale business can lead to greater profits and higher incomes; and from a development standpoint, it would mean that the shop owners of Mlolongo wouldn’t have to travel to Nairobi to purchase their inventory and the money would therefore remain within the town, benefiting the community as a whole.
I’ll be visiting slum areas of Nairobi this week, an experience sure to be different in many ways. I’m looking forward to seeing first-hand the different challenges faced by business-owners in the slums, as well as the differences in living conditions and overall quality of life – in comparison with the town of Mlolongo.
Work with Life in Africa
After being in Uganda for a few months and journaling for Kiva, September seems like years ago. Everything was so unfamiliar and I felt like the world I entered was insane. Yet, now I am used to the traffic, the city, the wonderful people, and the smells. J
My experience with Life In Africa has been truly eye-opening to the plight of those living in an IDP camp and those trying survive in the city. Each person I journal about has a unique challenge they are dealing with, or dealt with, along with a success story that may not have occurred without the start up capital from Kiva. It’s so fascinating to hear their stories before the loan, especially those who had no prior income, and then to hear how it affected their life and their families. Many of the borrowers explain that they have struggled with school fees and the loan helped them have sustainable income to send their children to school consistently; a priority that everyone has conveyed to me. Most of the borrowers I interview are women and their strength amazes me. Some of them widows, others my age and dealing with such hardships, and some who are the bread winners while their husbands just sit with their friends all day. Each woman has a fighting spirit and wants to provide for her family. At times the stories are hard and loans have not always been the answer to their challenges, but even if the business failed they have shown the remarkable ability to persevere through the situation they face.
Some of the most interesting interviews have been with those whose first business never took off or failed for various reasons because these borrowers had to adjust and rethink their business plan. Those who had to change really scrutinized their next business to ensure it would be profitable. Most of them have done tremendously well with their next business and proves “that if at first you don’t succeed you must try again.” Their tenacity to keep going and make a business succeed is inspiring to me. Those whose business did not succeed and they were not able to move forward were just as inspiring to me because most of them faced a challenge in life that was unbelievably staggering. In a country where life can be so cruel and adversity is prevalent, I have met people who are optimistic and hopeful that life can get better. I look forward for the rest of my time in Kampala.
